


Letting Go

by sue_denimme



Category: Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-01
Updated: 2012-02-01
Packaged: 2017-10-30 11:27:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/331263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sue_denimme/pseuds/sue_denimme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo and Frodo have a last heart-to-heart talk before the farewell party.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Letting Go

**Author's Note:**

> I've always felt that Bilbo and Frodo must have had a talk somewhat like this. I can't accept that Bilbo would go off without giving Frodo at least some kind of personal, private goodbye.
> 
> Bilbo tells Gandalf that Frodo offered to go with him just before the party. I decided to make it a few days before the party instead -- they would probably both be too busy for a walking trip otherwise, in my mind, and in my mind a walking trip seemed the only "right" setting for such a talk.

The Halimath sun is just beginning to slip below the topmost edge of the trees, sending her last gleams to dance among the highest leaves. Shadows gather along the little rutted track, which is mostly unused except by the occasional local farmer driving his cart to or from the main road. A fox hurries across and disappears into the safety of the darkening undergrowth.

Softly at first, then growing steadily nearer, comes the slight creak and rustle of leather and the dull rhythmic thuds of steel against earth. Two voices are raised in song: a deep, pleasant tenor (though a bit gravelly from years of pipe-smoking), and a younger, lighter tone. Neither voice is quite minstrel quality, but they harmonize well.

 _Still round the corner there may wait  
A new road or a secret gate,  
And though we pass them by today,  
Tomorrow we may come this way  
And take the hidden paths that run  
Towards the Moon or to the Sun._ 


Two hobbits stride round a bend in the lane, past the fox which lies watching unseen in the brush, and walk on. They have packs on their backs and walking staves in their hands. One is older -- very old, in fact, though he seems every bit as hale as his companion. His hair has only recently, it seems, begun to show more grey than brown; his kind, mobile face is deeply grooved, but his sharp brown eyes miss little. The other is a handsome youth, barely an adult. His skin is smooth and fair, his hair inky dark, his most prominent feature a pair of wide, clear blue eyes. He moves with a grace and self-possession rare to see in one his age.

It will soon be evening, so Bilbo and Frodo leave the track and find a small clearing beside a stream, where they lay down their gear and begin to set up camp. Frodo takes on most of the tasks himself, fetching wood and water, humming their walking song as he does so.

Unloading their supper from their packs, Bilbo smiles to see his heir so obviously enjoying their excursion. He knows that Frodo likes to think of these outings as "adventures", even though they never actually do anything more dangerous than climbing over fallen tree trunks. Bilbo, on the other hand, knows what a real adventure is. He was in one once. Most of it was anything but enjoyable; it was uncomfortable, tedious, exhausting, and terrifying, yet it somehow remains one of his fondest memories. For that journey, he believes, taught him what it means to truly be _alive_.

Adventure is calling him again. It has been doing so for years, but he had his tenants and his holdings and Frodo to look after. Now Frodo is nearing his coming of age. And Bilbo can't help thinking that soon he will be free to follow that voice once more.

_Free?_ he wonders, with a stab of guilt, and glances at Frodo. His nephew stopped humming a while ago, he realizes. The lad is staring into the flames which burn brighter as the sky fades to darkness, but somehow Bilbo has the impression that he had been gazing at his uncle until the moment Bilbo looked up at him. Wordlessly, he turns over the sausages which he has sizzling in the pan.

"You've gone quiet all of a sudden," Bilbo remarks casually, fiddling with the plates.

Frodo smiles briefly. "So have you."

"Hm. Just tired, I expect. It's been rather a long day." Bilbo shifts his weight, stretching out his leg, as if to emphasize his point.

He waits patiently. It is always easy to tell when Frodo has something on his mind; the problem is that he won't say what it is until he's good and ready, and sometimes that is never. But Bilbo has spent a long time cultivating the boy's trust. And the best way to draw him out is not to try. So he pretends to lose interest in the conversation as he fetches out napkins.

Frodo lasts throughout supper, which doesn't surprise Bilbo. After eating, they sit and smoke a while. Usually, this would have been the time for Bilbo to tell stories -- of ancient Elven legends, or his own adventures -- but Frodo doesn't seem in the mood for stories tonight, and Bilbo refrains from asking. He waits some more, and gazes up at the stars peeping through the leaves above while he does so.

"This is the last time we'll be doing this, isn't it?"

Frodo's voice is so soft, Bilbo almost doesn't hear him. His heart jolts in his chest.

He hadn't thought of tonight in quite that way. He had simply thought that now that the preparations were all in place for the "party of special magnificence" that he has been planning -- ever since their last birthday, in fact...now that the food is ordered, the invitations posted, the Party Field nearly ready to be set up, the presents gathered and waiting, and Gandalf on his way (hopefully)...this was the perfect opportunity for the two of them to get off by themselves.

Bilbo silently curses himself. Trust Frodo to see this outing for what it is. _How can I leave him? he wonders. Especially now, on his coming of age? As if he were some obligation that I had to stay just long enough to see through, and as soon as it's done, off I go? How can he not feel as if he's being orphaned all over again? Bilbo, you fool!_

"Frodo, I -- " he begins, feeling his eyes sting.

"It's all right, Bilbo."

Bilbo can't help staring at his ward. Frodo is actually smiling at him, his eyes gentle. Smiling.

"I'd be stupid not to know how much you've been longing to be on the road again. And I'd be even more stupid if I didn't realize that that's why you're so intent on setting the entire Shire on its ear with _this_ particular birthday party."

For once in his life, Bilbo is at a loss for words.

"Part of me wishes I could go with you," Frodo goes on. His voice is quiet and thoughtful, his eyes watching the crackling flames. "And if you said the word right now, I'd not hesitate. But -- well, most of me still loves the Shire too much to want to leave it just yet."

Bilbo finally finds his voice. "Are you angry with me, Frodo?" he asks. "Even a little?"

Frodo seems to consider the question carefully for a moment, then shakes his head. "I used to be, a little," he admits. "I wondered why you even took me in when you knew you would be leaving me someday. But then I thought about all you've done for me, and how very lucky I have been to have you. The least I can do is not hold you back any longer."

"I never thought you were holding me back, Frodo." Bilbo hears the rasp in his voice, and clears his throat. He attempts to speak lightly. "Dear, silly boy. These last twelve years have been even more of an adventure than my journey with the Dwarves. You've been a trial at times, but more often a joy, and I have never -- _never_ \-- for a moment regretted adopting you."

"But the road goes ever on, doesn't it?" Frodo sits up straighter, to look directly into Bilbo's eyes. "You're a wanderer, Uncle. Like Eärendil. Remember when you first showed me his star? There it is."

Frodo points to the west, and dumbly, Bilbo follows his gaze, to the unmistakable gleam that has captured his eye almost every night since he himself first heard the story of the mariner.

"It's beautiful," Bilbo manages to say.

"Yes." Frodo lowers his hand. "It is."

He meets Bilbo's gaze again, steadily, and Bilbo is amazed by the peace he sees in those blue eyes. Is this really the same young rapscallion who used to be the terror of every mushroom farmer within ten miles of the Brandywine?

"He'll be watching over you, Bilbo. I know he will. Just be careful, won't you?"

Unable to stand it any longer, Bilbo gathers his nephew into his arms, burying his nose in the dark curls for what may very well be the last time.

"Oh, my dear, dear lad," he whispers. "Of course I'll be careful. I'm too old to be anything else. But _you_ \-- "

"I'll be fine, Uncle," Frodo says firmly.

Bilbo laughs, his heart lighter than it has been in what feels like weeks. "Indeed you will, my lad. Indeed you will."

He kisses Frodo's forehead, thinking to himself what a wonder it is that somehow a dotty old bachelor like him has managed after all to raise the best hobbit in the Shire.

 

~end~


End file.
